


storytime: MY HOT NEIGHBOR FROM HELL!!1!

by gaywardguide



Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Meet-Ugly, Sexual Tension, he cant help it tho ! quirrell too cute for his own good, he is also an asshole and so is quirrell as he will find out, quirrell wears old man pyjamas, the basilisk is named basil n he looks n acts cute but thats only bc he cant talk, voldemort is a determined bi, voldemort is the worst neighbor ever
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaywardguide/pseuds/gaywardguide
Summary: Quirinus Quirrell liked to consider himself a pretty even-tempered person, but even he had to draw the line somewhere. And Mr. Riddle, his mysterious neighbor whom he had never actually met before, had strutted right over the line. In fact, his neighbor was so far over the line that the line was just a blurry dot in the distance to him.





	1. quirrell

**Author's Note:**

> aaa sorry this chapter is pretty short, but i think the next few will be longer!

Quirinus Quirrell liked to consider himself a pretty even-tempered person, but even he had to draw the line somewhere. And Mr. Riddle, his mysterious neighbor whom he had never actually met before, had strutted right over the line. In fact, his neighbor was so far over the line that the line was just a blurry dot in the distance to him.

And so, that was why Quirrell found himself grouchily rolling out of his warm, soft bed, ignoring the fact that he was still in his pyjamas as he slipped on his shoes, and storming out his front door and slamming it behind it with a great big 'bang'.

The sky was a beautiful shade of deep blue above, with stars still twinkling merrily beside the moon despite the sun that would soon be poking up over the horizon. At any other time perhaps Quirrell would have stopped to admire it, but not now. Now, he was on a mission.

The brown-haired man stomped down the pavement, stopping and spinning to face the house beside his, where a certain (extraordinarily pale, he noted, and quite muscley) neighbor had seen fit to start mowing his lawn at five fucking a.m (pardon Quirrell's language).

"This," Quirrell said in his angry-teacher voice. "Is _unacceptable_ , Mr. Riddle."

Said neighbor in question looked over at him in surprise, and shut off the disruptive contraption with his unfairly (in Quirrell's opinion) buff arms that bulged even through his loose black tee, before squinting at the disgruntled man standing before his front yard. "Uh, what did you say?"

"You heard me!" Quirrell scowled. " _Un_. _Acc_. _Ceptable_. _This_ ,-" He waved his arms around, gesticulating wildly- " _That_ ,-" He pointed at the lawnmower. " _Everything_! No, no, _no_! Do you know what time it is, Mr. Riddle?"

Quirrell's neighbor looked as though he was trying to figure out if this was a dream. His brow scrunched (how peculiar, Quirrell noted, offhandedly- it wasn't like he was paying particularly close attention to what the man looked like, no, not at all- his eyebrows were a dark shade of brown but his hair was pale blonde, almost white. Did he dye it?), and Quirrell attempted to ignore how the gesture was both infuriating and adorable. "I dunno, like six or-"

" _Five_! Five o'clock in the morning! The a.m!" Quirrell all but shrieked. He gave his neighbor a very cross look, who in turn cocked an eyebrow and smirked lightly, a mixture of unimpressed and amused. Quirrell berated himself for the way his ears reddened at the other man's face, and was grateful that he was so angry his complexion was already pretty flushed. "Mr. _Riddle_ ," He continued, enunciating each word sharply. "Do you know what I do? I am a teacher. A high school teacher. I teach teenagers all day. Doesn't that sound like _fun_? And what's even more fun is that I come home from work, and guess what? I have _more_ work! I stay up marking until about, oh, I don't know, one or two in the morning. And then, Mr. Riddle, I go to sleep, because I have to be up between six and seven in the morning to get to school so I can start the whole thing over again."

"B-"

" _Sh_! _No_!" Quirrell jabbed a finger at Voldemort threateningly, who had the decency to widen his eyes at Quirrell's display. " _You_? You don't get to speak right now. _So_. Where was I? Ah, yes. Here I am trying to get at least four hours of sleep- which itself is nowhere near healthy, by the way- when I am awoken at the- pardon my language- _ass crack of dawn_ by what _seems_ to be the sound of someone mowing. Their. _Lawn_. But I think to myself, well, that can't be it, Quirrell, you must be hearing things, because who on earth would mow their lawn at five in the morning? Certainly not any sane, _reasonable_ person-"

"H-"

" _Shut it_! Anyway, I go back to sleep, convinced that I imagined things because who would do something that mindless and moronic? But then it happens _again_ , I'm woken up _again_ , so I go, alright I'm apparently not hearing things, but maybe it's something else- so I look out my window and do you know what I see? Do you know what I _see_ Mr. Riddle?"

Mr. Riddle meekly opened his mouth to respond, and Quirrell cut him right off.

" _You_! I see your pasty, self-centered _ass_ \- excuse me- _mowing_ his damn lawn! At five in the morning! Do you realize how unacceptable this is, Mr. Riddle? _Do_ you? Well, _what_ do you have to say for yourself?" After a speech like that Quirrell found himself subtly gasping for air, as he glared at the pale-haired man and tapped his foot impatiently.

Mr. Riddle blinked very slowly. "Uh. Nice pyjamas?"

Quirrell was quiet.

Too quiet.

Then, he exploded.

" _YOU_!" He squawked, bristling. He vaguely registered some clusters of birds fluttering out of nearby treetops, but ignored it. "You... you arrogant bastard!" He marched right onto Mr. Riddle's lawn and stood in front of the slightly-short man at a distance (or lack thereof) that probably would've had him blushing if he wasn't utterly sleep-deprived, arms crossed as he craned his neck forwards. "I can't _believe_ you! Of all the inconsiderate, _ignorant_ things to do..."

Quirrell could've sworn he saw a hint of colour blossom onto Mr. Riddle's ~~exquisite~~ razor-sharp cheekbones, though he must've imagined it as the man quickly gave him a lopsided smirk. "You think _I'm_ being disruptive? This coming from the guy yelling his lungs out on the street."

" _I_ \- that's not-" Quirrell stuttered, before scowling once again. "Now you listen here, that's different! I-I'm yelling at _you_ , because _you_ were disturbing the neighborhood first!"

"Uh- _huh_."

"D-don't 'uh-huh' me! Look, I just want you to _stop_. Is that so hard?" Quirrell nearly begged through gritted teeth.

Mr. Riddle didn't so much as blink. "Okay."

Quirrell's brow furrowed, and he cocked his head slightly. "Um. What?"

"Yeah sure, I'll stop," Mr. Riddle responded without missing a beat. "I won't mow the lawn at five in the morning anymore."

"Oh... thank you." Quirrell responded, relieved. Huh, that was actually pretty easy. "I'll- um- I'll just-" He awkwardly jabbed a thumb over towards his house.

Mr. Riddle looked amused. "Yeah, sure. See you around, Squirrel." He began pushing his lawn mower back towards his garage.

Quirrell was so eager to climb back into his warm, comfy bed that the nickname didn't even register to him.

What also didn't register was the wicked look on Mr. Riddle's face as he watched Quirrell walk back to his house, observing from his front door.


	2. voldemort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which voldemort/tom is desperate and really needs to stop talking to his snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only several months later and i finally decided to update this bitch lmaooo also i've decided i'll probably have a back and forth pov thing???? to make things more interesting i think. anywhomst enjoy !

As Tom Riddle surveyed the ripped tees, muscle shirts, and crop tops that had amassed on his neatly-made bed in an unceremonious pile, it occurred to him that maybe he had a bit too much time on his hands. He glanced over at his snake (a ghost ball python, to be exact) for support. Basil was slithering around on his smoothed comforter near the piles of black, moonlight streaming in through the parted violet curtains and illuminating the greeny-gold bits of his hazy morph. Basil cocked his head and looked at Tom with knowing, beady black eyes, and if he had eyebrows they would no doubt be raised in judgement right now.

"Fuck off." Tom told his snake, without malice in his voice.

Basil flicked his tongue out cutely, before attempting to burrow himself in a v-neck crop top. He sighed, before walking over and holding out his muscular forearm so Basil could slither up it lazily, curling a bit around his hand, too. "Oh, I can't stay mad at you." Tom muttered as he straightened up, holding his hand up to his face to look his snake in the eyes. He nodded his head towards his bed. "So, what do you think? I was thinking of going for a crop top, but that might be too much... also, it might be cold out. I dunno."

Basil flicked his tongue again, against Tom's chin. Tom scowled. "No I'm not!"

Basil moved his head closer, rounded snout touching Tom's pointed, upturned one. He gazed silently up at his owner with innocent, dark eyes. 

"Okay, maybe I am." Tom relented. This was not the first time he'd argued with his snake over his ridiculous crush on his neighbor. Despite never having spoken to him until the previous morning, he'd somehow managed to fall in love with him, watch him fetch the paper every morning, figure out he was probably maybe gay, and even give him a cute little nickname that had accidentally slipped out at their first meeting because of course Tom was just that lucky. "But- come on. You have to see the guy, Bas, if you were a human too you'd understand. He's got this hair and these eyes and this fucking dirty-looking mouth, and his legs- and his ASS-" Tom made a very frustrated noise that somewhat resembled a gorilla's screech. Basil nuzzled his cheekbone comfortingly before returning to curl his head through Tom's spread fingers. "I have to see him again, Bas, and you know I'm incapable of talking to people without pissing them off, I'm just- I'm not fucking _nice_ , I can't fucking _be_ nice. What the fuck would I say, anyways? _Hi I'm Tom, I've shoplifted fourteen times, am sexually, romantically, and emotionally frustrated, and have never been in a real relationship._  Jesus fuck. I might as well go all the way and have him looking like that, all sweaty and pink, looking at _me_ like-"

Basil made a cute little noise. Tom groaned. "Yes, I _know_ I need to get laid."

Basil bumped his thumb softly.

"Yes I _know_ he's probably totally romantic and would want to go on dates and stuff and hold hands and make out on a Ferris wheel and go rollerblading together and plan our children's names and be all cutesy."

Basil blinked.

"Yes I _know_ I don't have the first clue about any of that shit even though it sounds pretty good."

The wind rustled the leaves in a tree outside.

"YES I KNOW THAT IT'S FOUR IN THE MORNING AND THAT THIS WON'T WORK AND HE'S PROBABLY JUST GOING TO HATE ME BUT LET ME HAVE THIS."

Basil sighed, before trying to burrow inside Tom's palm. Tom sighed too. "Whatever." He muttered. "Happy fun judging Tom time is over. Back into your terrarium, you. And I'm going with a tank top."

* * *

 

Tom whistled cheerily to himself as he quietly pulled his lawn mower out of his garage, his path illuminated only by the moon and the faint amber glow of the streetlamps. With minimal effort he pushed it onto his freshly-mowed lawn. Pulling a silver compact mirror out of his pocket, he squinted at his dimly-lit reflection, checking to make sure his hair was tousled, but only slightly so, so it was sexy but didn't look like he was trying too hard. _Cheekbones still lookin' fresh..._ He closed the mirror and tucked it away, before checking his body. Biceps bulging and on display? Check. Arm holes big enough so they display some side tottie but not a questionable amount? Check. He peeked down at the waistband of his tight grey sweatpants, then, after swivelling his head around to make sure nobody was lurking in the bushes, carefully pulled them down a tiny bit. _Tiny bit of my v-line and hips on show, along with a little of my very expensive Calvin Klein briefs?_ Check.

"Look's like we're good to go." Tom muttered with a grin. With a grunt, he started the lawnmower, and with a crack of his hands started pushing it around lazily. It took- not that Tom was counting- around four minutes until he heard very loud and very angry footsteps slapping on the sidewalk behind him.

Forcing himself not to seem too desperate, he didn't turn around until he heard a very familiar voice call out, "EXCUSE ME!" In a deliciously clipped and frustrated tone. Oooh, he was mad already. This was gonna be good.

Tom closed his eyes, smirking in unseen satisfaction, before turning off the lawnmower and spinning around with a pleasant smile, leaning one arm on the handle. It felt really uncomfortable, but hopefully looked super cool and hot and relaxed. "Yeeesss?" He was greeted with the gorgeous sight of his new friend Squirrel standing on the sidewalk in front of his house, thick soft-looking hair adorably bedheaded, an angry flush on his cheeks and a grumpy frown tugging at his sleep-swollen, pouty lips. He was in his pyjamas again, matching ones like last time, too, only instead of being striped all red and white like an adorable little candy cane these ones were floral, red and gold. How adorable. Tom was almost disgusted with the audacity of this little twink.

" _You_!" Was all Quirrell could conjure, nearly shaking in rage. He stomped forward onto and across the lawn. "YOU!" He reached Tom, and jutted a finger out at him. It was a very pretty finger. Quirrell took a moment to presumably think of his next sentence. Tom could also tell he was straining not to look at Tom's chest, which was very visible through the front of his tight black muscle shirt and the low-cut sleeves, and his hips, which were kind of getting goosebumps from the cold night air, but what was a little frostbite in the name of true... whatever this was. Tom was even tempted to slip them a little lower, right in front of Quirrell, too, but decided that he wasn't that evil and also things were quite enjoyable as they were.

About five seconds later, Quirrell managed to speak again. His blush had intensified. "I. Cannot. _Believe_. You." His fists clenched at his sides. "You _said_ you wouldn't do this again. You _lied_ to me!"

"Actually," Tom said. "I said I wouldn't mow the lawn at five in the morning anymore, and, you see, it's four right now. Oh, pardon me, four fourteen." There was a silence as he looked at Quirrell, who was trying to comprehend this. 

"You see," Tom continued, enjoying the phrase 'you see' as it made him sound quite smart and calm and collected, and not as if he was a desperate horny little asshole with a stupid crush. "I'm not a liar. You just didn't remember. Which is concerning, since it happened last morning. You might be having some memory problems." And then, something popped into his head, something he knew would piss his little Squirrel off. He held back a grin, and just regarded Quirrell innocently. "May I advise getting some more sleep to help with that?"

There was silence for a few long moments. Tom could see the anger physically filling up in Quirrell, until he opened his mouth and yelled "NO." In Tom's face very loudly, lips forming into a satisfying scowl. Tom blinked. A bird flew away somewhere.

"No?" Tom said.

" _No_ ," Quirrell repeated firmly. Tom wondered how far down his cute little blush went past his collar. " _No_ no no no NO. No-  _sir_ , no-  _Mr. Riddle_ , you may NOT. You may NOT RECOMMEND I GET SOME MORE SLEEP BECAUSE YOU ARE THE REASON I AM NOT SLEEPING YOU IGNORAMUS AND HOW ON EARTH AM I THE ONLY PERSON WHO HAS COMPLAINED ABOUT THIS DO YOU NOT HAVE ANOTHER NEIGHBOUR."

"Severus moved away last month," Tom said. "Have you tried melatonin?"

"NO AND HUSH. Why are you even mowing your lawn again, anyways?" Quirrell demanded.

"My little session was cut short when you demanded I stop last time. I missed a couple spots."

"You missed a _spo_ -" Quirrell slammed his face into his hands. He sounded as if he were going into cardiac arrest. He was kind of wheezing. "You- _couple_ \- spots- _missed?_ Mi- _missed_? Of course. No no no no no. _No_. This- _this_ -" He waved his arms around wildly, nearly slapping Tom in the chest. Not that Tom would have minded. "This can _wait_. _Surely_ you _know_ that this can _wait_."

"You know, so many people in life say that. This can wait, that can wait, she can wait." Tom mused. "I'm tired of it. Procrastination is one of the devil's most deadly weapons. Life is short, everything's temporary. If you keep waiting things are just never gonna get done and you're just gonna be filled with so much regret, y'know? I say, life is short and so-"

"And so mow your lawn at four in the morning and ignore your neighbor's warnings?"

Tom frowned kindly. "Mr. Quirrell, I am but a humble man of Christ trying to ward off the devil's sneaky advances and live my life as freely and fully as possible."

"First of all, the bible never said anything about procrastination," Quirrell said. "Second of all, you are the least Christian man I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, and I once hid in a washroom stall and read The Hobbit in it's entirety in one single service. Third of all, if you want to live freely go take a walkabout or something. Learn yoga, perhaps."

"Hm, I do have a pair of leggings I've been meaning to bust out that'd be just perfect for yoga," Tom said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Haven't worn them for a while though, might be tight. But I've always been pretty flexible. I might as well check it out, since after this morning, after I get the rest of the spots... I guess my lawn is finished." Tom sighed.

"Finished." Quirrell said, then laughed humorlessly. "I don't believe you." 

Tom held a hand to his chest in faux-shock. "My dear Squirrel! I'm offended! Really now, look around."

Quirrell blinked. "It's four in the morning, it's dark out. I can't see anything." 

"Well, trust me, it's all done. This was the last patch." Tom lied. Well, kind of lied. He really didn't know himself if the lawn was completely finished because he didn't really care all that much about a few spots. And he really didn't care about the lawnmower anymore, or his lawn at all at this point. No, no, he had another idea in store. "I'll just go put this away, and then I'm done. Promise!"

Quirrell sighed and fixed Tom with an expectant, almost challenging look in his eyes, hugging his lanky, cold little body over his thin pyjamas. Tom realised they were satin. Cute. A fancy little boy. He wondered, offhandedly, what those pyjamas would feel like against his bare skin, wondered what it'd look like to see Quirrell straining against them, gasping and sweating underneath. And also, like, what'd feel like to cuddle him in them and stuff. Because for some odd reason Quirrell inspired those kinds of feelings inside of him, too. "...I believe you but I know for a fact that you're still hiding something, but I'm too tired to care."

"That's the spirit!" Tom said cheerily.

" _But_ -" Quirrell held up a hand, looking at Tom with narrowed eyes. "I'm warning you. Any more nonsense, and I _will_ retaliate. Don't pull anything else, Riddle."

"I will most certainly pull no nonsense anymore," Tom lied happily through his teeth, trying to look quite serious. "I most definitely don't want you to retaliate or engage with me in any way!"

"Good." Quirrell seemed a bit suspicious, but satisfied. " _Now_. I am going to go back to bed, and I am going to trust that you are going to put that away when I leave." He raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Tom relented. _Stupid dumb cute twink boy._

" _Yes_ , I will put it away."

Quirrell then smiled, and it was the sweetest Tom had ever seen him. ~~Which was kind of his fault, but nevertheless.~~ "Wonderful!" And with that Quirrell was off and away, all too fast it seemed, and Tom was left standing there listening to the swish of his silk pants and the soft padding of his slippers, half-tempted to start the lawnmower back up again just to get his little Squirrel back here.

Instead, Tom reluctantly pushed the lawnmower back into his garage, and sat on a box in there in the darkness for a moment, pondering.

Somewhere inside his house, Basil flicked his tongue out judgementally.

 

 


End file.
